But I only made it through 14.
It was a beautiful night -- perfect weather, mid-70s, couldn't ask for anything better. But by mile 10, I was feeling like I'd already run 18. When Chris met me for my hydration and nutrition stop, I said, "I'm hurting, Chris. I don't know if I'm going to make it."
"Sure you are!" he said cheerfully as I wiped the nasty, white salt residue from my face. "I'll see you in four more miles!"
And away he drove in the air conditioned Suburban. The one with seats. And water. And food. The one that could so easily have driven me home to a warm shower and a waiting bed.
But I trudged on.
The sunset gave way to darkness as I ticked off mile 13. Five more to go. FIVE. I wasn't entirely sure I could take five more steps.
By the time I was approaching the 14-mile mark, it was fully dark, I was on a lonely stretch of sidewalk, and my vision started blurring. The last thing I consciously remember before calling Chris was passing my friend, Karlee and her husband as they carried a casserole dish to a Friday night party. Oh, how I wanted to be at that party... drinking heavily, eating things I shouldn't be, drinking a little more.
I wanted to be anywhere but where I was.
As I lumbered through the dark, my vision started blurring. (As most of you know, I don't wear glasses on my long runs. If I could get away with it -- and if my neighbors wouldn't be forced to rip their eyeballs out of their sockets -- I'd run naked. I just don't like any extra weight. The only thing I'll carry -- strapped to my arm -- is my iPhone. I need a little "SexyBack" when the going gets rough, and I feel a wee bit safer knowing I can call my personal sag wagon at any time.)
And call I did.
"Chris, I need you to come get me," I blurted into my sweaty phone. "I'm not right."
"Are you sure?" he asked, leading me to believe that he thought I was wimping out on him. "You've only got four more miles, right?"
"I'm not right," I assured him. "Come get me now. Please."
"Where are you?" he asked.
I looked around, but everything was hazy. And dark. And confusing.
"I'm on Willow Road somewhere. I'm not sure where."
"Jesus, Katrina, you don't know where you are?"
"It's dark," I explained. "And my vision's not right. And I don't have my glasses."
"Are you near Azionaqua?" he asked.
"Somewhere around there," I promised him. "Just come find me. Now. Please. Hurry."
Then I hung up the phone and promptly vomited all over the side of the road.
Afraid to stop completely, I continued to walk. Until I stopped to vomit again. Then I walked a little more.
At some point, Chris found me. At some point, he loaded me up in the car. I don't remember any of it. Apparently, I was a bit of a mess on the drive home. He claims I passed out briefly, tried to talk but mumbled unintelligibly instead, and was unable to focus on his face while he was talking to me. Apparently, he also informed me that if I wasn't able to communicate with him within the next four minutes, he was loading the kids up and we were going to the ER.
I hate the ER.
When we arrived home, he forced some salt water into me. He fed me a banana, spooned some peanut butter into my mouth. I threw up again, and he gave me more water. Eventually, I was able to get it together enough to get out of the car and inside the house.
"I won't take you to the ER if you PROMISE you'll do everything I say tonight," Chris informed me. In my right mind, I would have been giggling about the implied sexual innuendos in his statement, but in my I'm-Entirely-Fucked-Up mind, I simply agreed.
For the next hour, he rehydrated me with salted water and potassium-laden snacks. He helped me shower, and I sat shivering in my flannel pajamas and old-woman robe while he actually fed me SALT water. Yuck.
When I was coherent enough to realize that I didn't complete my 18 miles, I cried.
"I'm never going to be able to do this!" I sobbed. "I can't run more than 16 miles!"
"Oh, for the love of God!" Chris replied. "Would you GET IT TOGETHER?!"
He doesn't tolerate a whole lot of self-pity.
"The kids didn't see me acting like a drunk, did they?" I asked.
"Not tonight," he replied.
The next day, I asked George if he'd seen me when I was sick.
"No," he said. "Dad wouldn't let us. You must have looked pretty bad."
Indeed.
And so, my friends, this body of mine failed me once again. I'm not so sure I like that. I prefer to think of myself as invincible. And the saddest part is that it wasn't my legs or my lungs that gave out (which is what I've battled in the past), it was my entire being. My whole body decided that 14 miles was IT Friday night.
I'm not pleased with the rebellion.
And lest you get all crazy and think that my body's revolt has to do with some fast-moving, single-digit mile counting, let me assure you that there's NOTHING FAST about my runs. Truly, snails keep a quicker pace. For me, it's all about the finish, not about the time. And if I can't even finish, well...
I know it's a stretch to think about my Mom and her battle with MS, but I'm starting to get a little glimpse of what it must feel like to have your body betray you in every possible way.
So, today, I'm treating this one like a temple. Water, water, water. Can't get enough. Lots of grains, lots of potassium, lots of good stuff. I'm cutting back on the wine, not drinking any on the days preceding my next long run (TWENTY MILES this weekend!).
I'm going to figure this damn thing out if it kills me.
6 comments:
I call these runs "false starts". Almost every year, on at least one of the long runs, I have one...where I just don't have it in me to run that distance. I think my first marathon, I stalled on 13 or 15 miles. I couldn't run any farther than that. It took like three or maybe even four tries before I could hit 16 miles. I think you need to add pretzels into your runs. On my 15-miler this year, I started vomiting at mile 11, ate a banana at mile 12 (which I vomited) and couldn't stop throwing up until mile 13, when I ate some pretzels. Then, I was fine. Bananas seem like the logical thing, but I couldn't get them to stick until I ate the pretzels.
You can do this. I totally had a similar experience. Plus, your experiences now are making you mentally tougher, which you will need for the marathon. Sorry that the run was so miserable. I love your post, I can picture everything!
I can't run 14 FEET. You're my hero!!! You'll get there. This is a huge feat. You can't expect it to happen without some challenges and setbacks. Victory's going to taste that much better when it comes!
Get thee to a book store and buy Jeff Galloway's Book on Running http://www.amazon.com/Galloways-Book-Running-Jeff-Galloway/dp/0936070277/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1284409934&sr=1-1
This was my bible when I was running long distance. It will help...I guar-ran-tee it.
And then there is a new book that I hear is great too - called Born to Run.
If I recall correctly (WAY back when I could actually run) it is all about WHAT you eat before and during your runs. But the BEFORE is key. And WHEN. Do some research and you'll probably discover something you can change to fix this issue.
You can do it. I know you can.
Hugs,
Dawn
All this talk about vomit and passing out make me think humans---civilized humans off the savannah---ought to knock it down a notch and maybe try some step aerobics. :-)
Uh, I can't even jump off a countertop without injuring myself to the point of two knee surgeries. We all have limits, Kat, they change as we age, as we go through life. But they make us learn something about ourselves. I am very proud of you. You've come a long way baby...
Katrina - I read this, laughed and cried a bit too. What determination you have. I don't know you THAT well, but I know you have made tremendous progress in this last year with your weight loss and now look at you, running 14 miles??? Focus on the positives and what you have done...18, then 20 and 26.2.....it WILL happen....keep truckin'!!!
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